Incorrect Deducing
by Herr Fritz
Summary: Sherlock and John think Moriarty's trying to burn Sherlock's heart out by causing the flatmates to become jealous of each other. There's no other reason he'd be treating them the way he is...right? T to be safe. Semi-crack material.


**I attempted to write some comedy here, but I always end up writing in a serious manner. So think of it as a satire, if you will. At the least, that'll make it seem smarter.**

**As a disclaimer, I do not own the characters, the setting, or even the basic plot (I was given a prompt). Oh well. You come from nothing; you go back to nothing…**

**/-/**

The game between Moriarty and Sherlock had ended in a draw. Sherlock failed to capture Moriarty, and Moriarty failed to eliminate John, and thus failed to break Sherlock. The consulting criminal had come dangerously close, though.

Thankfully, John's instinct had protected him and Sherlock from the detective's perilous cleverness. The two had survived, and true to the old idiom, what had not killed the men had made them stronger and closer.

Only days after the incident at the pool, as they left the hospital to return to their flat, the mates made each other a promise.

No matter what else Moriarty had in store for them, they would always stand by each other.

/-/

That day John was promised by Sherlock he'd always be there for him was also the day Moriarty bought him roses.

It sounded so simple crunched down into a single statement, but John knew it was anything but.

John and Sherlock's release from the hospital had been uneventful, the return to the flat ordinary at most. It even held the little everyday annoyances that John hated to deeply.

"We're out of milk!" The doctor cried out in disbelief, gaping at the refrigerator. "But- I just bought some before-"

"You got kidnapped?" Sherlock called amusedly from the couch. "That was _days_ ago, John. Not to mention, you left the milk on the counter then. I noticed it was bad when I walked in, so I took the liberty of throwing it away."

Irritation gnawed at John. He knew Sherlock's definition of 'throwing something away' meant placing it on the top of the steps next to Mrs. Hudson's door in the hopes _she_ would go the extra few metres and put it in the trash.

"Does this mean the _first thing_ I have to do upon getting back to the flat is _get groceries_?"

"Don't forget more bread." Sherlock sounded a little too tickled at the situation, if John were to argue. Unfortunately, John _didn't _want to argue- it was too soon after getting out of the hospital to start a row.

"I'll be right back."

As he collected his coat, John tried to force a laugh. It seemed things hadn't changed at the flat a bit since the pool incident.

It only took a few steps into the grocery shop for John to realize that other parts of the world were about to change drastically, even if the flat refused to change to suit the times.

It might have been the face that there were no queues for once at the checkouts. It might have been the sale on the wheat bread John loved so much. It might have been the actual presence of shopping baskets at the entrance.

Most likely, though, it was the fact Moriarty was standing at the entrance of the produce aisle, holding a bouquet of roses, and beaming expectantly at John.

The doctor hesitantly felt his side for his holster, cursing bitterly when he recalled Lestrade had confiscated it 'until further notice'.

The consulting criminal continued to stand in still amusement as John proceeded to search his pockets for his cell phone, mace, then scan the surrounding shelves frantically to see if there was anything there that could be used as a makeshift weapon. It was when John began heading over to a shop employee that Moriarty decided it best he intervene.

"Hi, sweet-ums!" He jovially greeted his enemy's flatmate. John stopped dead in his tracks.

"Dear Lord, what did you just call me?"

Moriarty shook his head. "Nothing, pet." Gingerly, he began approaching the still-suspicious John. "You know, I've been waiting here for nearly an _hour_ for you."

Before John could answer, Moriarty had reached him, and had thrust the bundle of flowers into his unprotected arms. "A present for you."

John neither accepted the roses nor shoved them away; his arms just remained frozen in a cradled position, the flowers just resting in them. Moriarty began walking forward, John trailing along with him out of lack of options otherwise. After a few paces, the criminal sighed, seemingly disappointed with himself.

"That wasn't too forward for this, was it?"

John narrowed his eyes, finally making a definite response to the other's antics. "That depends on what _this_ is."

Moriarty blinked in surprise at John's apparent ignorance. "It's our first date."

John's jolted reaction was slightly better than Moriarty had expected. The criminal was even prepared enough to catch the dropped bouquet and return it to John's hands. Amusedly, he continued to lead the doctor around the perimeter of the store, commentating as if nothing unusual had been said. "A bit of an odd location, a foods shop, but you've seemed to enjoy your time here if you minus your frequent rows with the automatic checkouts."

"You know how often I come here." It was a statement of fact, affirmed quite calmly, in fact. John believed he was past the realm of being surprised. At this point, the two came to a display in the aisle, and Moriarty placed his hand on John's back, guiding the doctor around the obstacle.

John didn't seem to notice that the criminal kept his hand there after passing. Some giggling passerby did.

"What's up with them?" John wondered out loud. Moriarty gave a boisterous chuckle, drawing more attention to the two men (and thus, more laughter).

"I don't think society is quite ready for this kind of match." He withdrew his hand, and made to walk away. "Perhaps our next date should be in a less…public place." To John's horror, the criminal reached into his pocket, most assuredly for a gun…

but instead, pulled out a small plastic rectangle.

"Roses aren't very practical, so this might make up for that oversight."

Moriarty handed a surprised John a gift card for the grocery shop.

"Erm…thank you." John, quite honestly, had nothing to say. After the pool incident Sherlock had given him thorough instructions on what to do when confronted with villains ready to kidnap, main, drug, or kill you (or quite possibly all at once). Never once, though, had he been given instruction on what to do if said scoundrel tried to give him a gift on their first date he didn't even know they were having. "The only thing more shocking would be if you had tried to wine and dine me."

Moriarty scoffed, the possibility he had gone out of his way to meet John at the shop ostensibly insulting. "It's no problem. Whatever's most convenient for my dear is quite alright with me."

At this point, John noticed that the criminal had ceased to walk alongside him, and was slowly making an exit. This was no problem for the doctor, as he had been increasingly concerned that he was forgetting to do something sensible, such as arresting the man. As he made to stride away, Moriarty abruptly turned around, making one final call.

"You _are_ smart enough not to mention this to Sherlock, aren't you?"

John gave a placid nod, not even wanting to imagine Sherlock's reaction if he were to know about the strange trip to the shop. Moriarty wasn't finished apparently, because he added one last question.

"Wining and dining…that's considered a surprisingly romantic gesture?"

John wasn't sure how to respond, so he was thankful when the consulting criminal rounded about, the question turning out to be more of a voiced ponder.

Now the only thing John would have to work on answering was to Sherlock as to why he hadn't returned to the flat with any milk.

/-/

That day Sherlock was promised by John that he'd protect the detective from himself was also the day Moriarty took him out to dinner.

It wasn't such a clear plan at first, or Sherlock would have never gone along with it. It had begun with three decapitated cadavers, a broken watch, and an obscure note, and had ended with a stunned Sherlock standing outside of the ritziest restaurant in the greater London area. The one with a three-week reservation list.

"I'm glad you could make it." Moriarty's voice greeted Sherlock as the detective had walked in. The criminal was in the back corner of the room, and already had a bottle of wine opened, and a full glass waiting.

It wasn't until Sherlock had sat down and had had a few sips of his Yellowglen that he spoke.

"I doubt you have plans to off me in such a crowded place."

Moriarty shook his head. "Daddy's intentions are far from that." He gestured to the surrounding tables, couples, and waiters. "You think I'd purposefully destroy the mood I've worked so hard to create?"

"And what mood is that?"

"Romance."

Sherlock choked on his wine.

"I must have misheard you. Repeat that."

Moriarty chuckled. "Come now, Sherlock, you're cleverer than that. You know there's no other _possible_ way to deduce my reasons and manner for bringing you here."

The detective fell silent. He remained silent even as a waiter glided to the table, dishes in hand.

"The salmon fillet and petit sirloin." The man spoke, placing the steak in front of Sherlock.

"I took the liberty of ordering for you before you arrived. I trust I chose right?"

Moriarty had expected a number of responses from Sherlock. He had three undercover snipers in the room, ready to fire if the detective made any move to attack him. He had a dusting of doxylamine in the breadsticks on the table, so Sherlock couldn't deduce his way out of the illogic situation. He had even used his last connections with the Keppochhill Gang, the only gang in England who didn't work for him, to find out Sherlock's preference for cooked steak. Medium rare, leaning to rare.

What he hadn't expected was for Sherlock to simply up and leave.

The detective stood sharply, his chair screeching against the wooden floor.

"Good night, Moriarty. You're obviously suffering from trauma, likely related to the pool incident, so it would be unfair for me to arrest you in your delusional state of mind. Go, regain some sense, then do try to kill me in a _proper _criminal manner!"

He turned to leave, but halted. For a fleeting moment Moriarty wondered what he was doing, then Sherlock took his napkin and opened it. Lifting his plate, he allowed the sliced meat to unceremoniously plop onto the cloth, followed by the sautéed vegetables, and a large serving of rice. The corners of the napkin were tied together, and the entirety was taken by Sherlock.

"John might be needing dinner tonight." Was all he explained with as he left. He never turned around.

If he had, he would have seen Moriarty's amused smile- would have heard his strange chuckle. Moriarty knew what Sherlock's 'compassion' stemmed from...and he was prepared to do everything in his power to staunch that flow.

/-/

For John, the worst part about Moriarty showing his affection wasn't the gestures themselves. It was the people who witnessed them.

On the second, third, and fifth times the criminal had managed to be precisely where John was running errands to, he had persisted in giving the doctor uncomfortably long hugs goodbye, coupled with disturbingly fond acts of running his fingers over John's cheek as he parted. On the fourth 'date' Moriarty had finally complied with John's plea not to act so inappropriate, but by the fifth meeting up, he had conveniently forgotten.

The thing John didn't understand about these strange invasions of personal space was a two-part contention. _Why_ wouldn't Moriarty listen to his desires not to be hugged (the embraces warranted embarrassing stares from passerby)? And _why _was he so keen on hugging John, anyway?

Unfortunately, there was little John could do to stop the man. It wasn't like he could stop running errands, and Sherlock got enough time to go out alone, so why shouldn't he? Maybe one of his rounds would end up being lucky, and he'd find Moriarty had lost all interest in him; whether that interest be in killing or enticing.

/-/

For Sherlock, the worst part about Moriarty planning dates for the two of them wasn't the dates themselves. It was the manner in which they were planned.

On their second, third, and fifth 'dates', Moriarty had persisted in setting up elaborate chases for the detective; having him trying to figure out who drowned a grandmother, why an expensive laptop was stolen, or trying to decode a rosemaled plate, only to end up at the park, an classical concert outdoors, or zoo for another tryst. The fourth date Moriarty had attempted to ask Sherlock out the 'normal way'. Sherlock had never been so glad for the dullness of normality before. It had been so easy to slam the flat door in the criminal's face. That result was probably what caused his enemy to resume the crime chases the fifth tryst.

Unfortunately, there was little Sherlock could do to stop the man. It wasn't like Sherlock could just up and stop accepting cases to solve. That would be dull, suspicious, and highly worthless if a case turned out to be an _actual _crime. Also, Sherlock _hated _the word tryst. He preferred the phrase 'unwanted, unwarranted bother'. Besides, _John_ got to go out and about without Moriarty bothering _him_. Why should Sherlock have to suffer from that lack of privilege? Maybe one of these crimes would end up actually being Moriarty's fault, and Sherlock wouldn't have to bother with his interest anymore. He may not actually _lose_ it, but there's little a criminal can do with that sort of interest when he's locked up for life.

/-/

Both men continued on with their lives, never telling the other who was secretly courting them. After all, how were flatmates supposed to tell each other they were being pursued by the man who had tried to kill them?

/-/

The sixth time Moriarty startled John into a date was in scenery far different from the past times.

John had little doubt Moriarty had known where he lived, but he never expected the consulting criminal to simply knock on the door and let himself in. The doctor had nearly broken his laptop, standing up in a start when he saw his visitor.

"Oh God, what are you doing here?"

Moriarty gave a dismissing wave to John as he made his way to the couch. "I'm _not_ turning into a stalker; that much is certain." After inspecting the seat he sat down, having found it sufficient. "I was planning on meeting you at Maplin Electronics this afternoon, but quite realized I didn't want to wait that long." There was a short pause. "Daddy missed his boy!"

John's forehead furrowed. Since realizing Moriarty had no plans of killing him, the criminal had morphed from a threat to an annoyance.

"That was disturbing in so many ways. Mostly because I think I'm older than you. And how did you know I was going to Maplin… never mind, I don't want to know…"

Moriarty gave a nod of understanding, as if he too knew what it was like to be ruthlessly pursued romantically by a villain who acted as if he had mental degeneration. "It's not all that hard to figure out where you're going. Hardly disturbing, either. Why don't you come here for a moment and I'll explain?"

John knew that was a bad move to make in so many ways, but recalling the possibility of the hidden snipers Moriarty loved so much, he figured there were worse things to do. He sat on the couch next to Moriarty.

Perhaps the hypothetical snipers were a better choice.

As Moriarty's arms snaked around John's shoulder, the doctor tried to shift over, not caring so much for discretion as he normally would.

"This isn't a good idea, you know. Sherlock just went out. He'll be back any-"

"He's on a case. He may not be back for days." Moriarty seemed awfully giddy at his own revelation. John; however, seemed downright petrified.

"You know, I'm really not comfortable with this."

The criminal shrugged. "I know. So? Sherlock's probably not all that comfortable with a bomb threat looming over his head. You can testify to that experience, can't you?"

If Moriarty wasn't mistaken, John's nervousness flitted away to reveal a calm demeanor at the mention of his detective.

"He'll still be here. I doubt bombs will delay him much more than a traffic detour. "

Such faith. Moriarty hated it.

"Oh, don't hope _too_ much, John. This is one of my better game pieces yet."

/-/

Sherlock hated dull cases. If Lestrade had half a brain, he wouldn't keep ringing every time someone lost their cat up a tree, had a grandma go out for a walk, or a piece of jewelry stolen. Tedious, boring, dull.

The most recent case Sherlock had declined was one in which a policeman needed his help in determining what a 'mysterious ticking noise' was in the park. It turned out to be a bomb: a run of the mill explosive hidden in the children's playground. It only took a minute to dismantle it. The officer had been so scared too, along with all the concerned parents clutching their children. Tch. _Normal _ people.

Now the detective was making his way back to the flat to John. If he was still in such a temperamental mood as this morning, Sherlock supposed he'd have to start firing bullets again.

However, upon arriving at 221B, Sherlock noted something quite interesting. The door was open. John was always such a heckler for those simple details. A puzzle. Hmn. _Not _dull.

Sherlock immediately changed the pace of his steps, going from a normal trod to a more stealthy tone. As he entered the foyer, there were definite voices stemming from his flat- he didn't need to strain his ears to hear.

The only thing he _did _strain was his grasp on reality- because if he heard correctly, one of the voices coming from above was Moriarty's. He was speaking above John's stubborn "if it's for Sherlock-"

The detective's stealthy tone was immediately abandoned for a sprint up the stairs. Reaching the door, Sherlock threw it open, caring little for the sickening crack it made against the wall. Before him was a far worse sight. Moriarty and John were on the couch-or rather- John was on the couch, and Moriarty was in the process of migrating from the couch to John.

Sherlock's brash entrance caused the two men to look up in shock-first Moriarty with a grin, then John, who broke off in mid-mantra.

"My. Aren't _we_ the one for walking in at the wrong time?" Moriarty took the liberty of breaking the silence, glancing up amusedly at Sherlock. Halfway underneath the criminal, John gaped like a deer in the headlights.

"Sherlock! Oh God, I never intended for this to happen- I didn't even think he's show up again-he made it sound as if you were going to get blown up by a-"

"I'd like to know the meaning of this, Moriarty." Sherlock seemed almost…livid.

"Oh dear… seems you were hoping for a monogamous relationship!" Begrudgingly, Moriarty sat up on his own side of the couch. "Let me tell you a little secret, love. It's not so much I much _want _you as _prefer_ you over John. Don't feel so betrayed."

"What?" the doctor sputtered. Moriarty shot a pitying glance at him.

"Sorry, dear. Looks like you're a bit of a second-tier."

The comment did little for the growing tension between the detective and doctor. Moriarty wouldn't have been surprised if stormclouds began to gather in the flat, and lightning bolts let loose. In case such a situation did begin to happen, the criminal made the wisest move he could. He decided to flee, let things take their course, and return to sweep whomever he pleased off their feet.

"Be right back! You two must be a little let down now, so I'll let you two row it out. Let me know when you're done!" Moriarty made an elaborate display of going to the door and opening it, attempting to add to the amounting drama. As the door swung shut, he sang a final comment.

"Daddy still loves you!"

The door clicked shut. The flatmates stared speechless.

"So…"

"It was all Moriarty's scheme." Sherlock quickly filled in. "I deduced that soon enough after he tried to court me the first time, but I…overlooked…his attempts to woo you as well. I thought he was delusionally keen on me at first, but now it makes more sense that you're the final piece of evidence." The detective leaned in and brought his lips next to John's ear, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I know what he's attempting to do."

John forced himself not to recoil. Not only did Sherlock not know the meaning of personal space, but was also unknowingly tickling John's ear with his murmuring.

"At the pool, Moriarty said he wanted to 'burn my heart'; a creative metaphor for wanting to hurt me through crushing my relationships with the few people I know. What would be a more painful way to do that than to have me push you away from myself in jealousy?"

John nodded sagely at this account. "I don't follow."

A frown flitted across Sherlock's face. "At least _try _not to be so dense! If I really _must_ put it in simpler terms, I would say Moriarty is pitting you against me in an attempt to 'toy with my affections'."

"So that means…" realization dawned upon John.

"Moriarty's not interested in you."

In John's opinion, Sherlock seemed a little too self-satisfied at being the sole item of his enemy's liking. Before the doctor could piece together his last comment, the flat door creaked open once more, and a very eager consulting criminal peered in.

"Are you done yet?"

Sherlock immediately gestured for John to sit down, act as calm as normal, and to let _him_ do all the talking.

John would never understand how Sherlock could communicate so much in a single movement.

"Yes. Completely done, Moriarty." The detective spoke in an even tone, an impressive feat, considering how angry he had been moments prior. "In fact, we've reached a decision regarding each other's deceptions."

"Really?" The criminal grinned, wide-eyed. "Are you going to tell me, or is it going to be a secret? Do I need to mind-read to get the answer? Because you _know_ I could if I tried."

Sherlock put on one of his perfectly innocent faces-the kind that John knew were complete farces, because they only appeared when Sherlock was acting to get information out of a lead.

"John and I just wanted to let you know, _Jim_, that we were a little stunned at first by your two-timing, but we're actually _totally _okay with it. We both just love you too much to let you go. We'd rather share than not have you at all."

John couldn't help but wince as Sherlock laid on the insufferable charm. It was a bit too much: too eager, and too straightforward for such a delicate deception. The voice itself was sappier than a maple tree. Only a lovesick idiot would ever fall for such a line.

"That is quite possibly the most romantic thing I've ever heard!"

Moriarty's voice broke with emotion as he walked towards the flatmates, who in turn stared.

"I mean, I thought if the 'daddy' comments didn't put you off, it'd be my inability to choose between the two of you. But look at you! Mature enough to know how to share!"

The criminal made as to hug the men, but was rejected by their fast retreats behind the couch. John quickly disobeyed Sherlock's silent order not to talk, valuing clarity over comfort.

"What was that all about? Aren't you supposed to be angry at our indifference? Furious at the failing of your plan? Fuming over the fact we aren't _ripping each other's throats out in jealousy?_"

Moriarty blinked in response. "No. Why should I be? You just said you two were willing to let me be with you at once."

While John fell silent, once again trying to understand the turn of events, Sherlock thought. His eyes furrowed in confusion, then in a snap, widened with understanding.

"Dear Lord, there was no master plan. You really want to _date_ John and I at once." A sickened look came over his face. "You were _serious_."

The disgust was missed on Moriarty. "Of course I was. I can understand the confusion, though. Sincerity is such a rarity for me."

"I thought you were a nutter before, but you just confirmed it."

"This coming from the sociopath." There was a moment's pause. "What did you two _think_ I was up to?"

John opened his mouth to respond, but Sherlock once again beat him.

"Nothing. And you can forget about any sort of relationship with either me or John…least of all both of us at once."

"But you just said-"

"We lied."

Moriarty's eyes narrowed, temperament changing completely. "In that case, you've just made a dangerous enemy. I'll get you back, Sherlock. And when I do, I'll _burn your heart out_."

Sherlock only sighed. "Your threats are getting repetitious, Moriarty. Deduction dictates you're losing your edge." The criminal opened his mouth to make another threat, but Sherlock would have none of it. "Because -as I wisely stated before- you're suffering from delusion, we're going to give you a free pass out of here. John and I are going to leave now, and by the time we get back, you're going to be gone; ready to resume your deadly game with a more healthy obsession of me."

John leaned over. "He wants to _kill_ us!"

"Precisely. I encounter that on a daily basis. It's a far more natural obsession than his odd lust."

With a curt nod, Sherlock went around Moriarty, John at his heels. Ignoring the increasingly crude insults coming from their flat, the two men rushed out to the street and began walking. As far as they knew, neither of them had a plan as to where they were going, but at the current moment all that mattered was getting away from Moriarty.

It was three blocks down when _it_ hit the doctor. John knew he was only sabotaging his own well-being, but there was something that had to be said.

"It looks like he _wasn't _just after you." He voiced as neutral as he could. Even so, a grin tugged on the corners of his lips. "Maybe you just aren't as striking as you think you are, Sherlock."

The detective replied in his usual calm manner, but John could hear the traces of tightness in his voice. "I do not need Moriarty's opinion on how lust-inspiring I am to form an opinion of myself, thank you, Doctor."

John kept his sigh to himself. It wasn't like it was a secret how vain Sherlock was. "Was it really such a good idea to leave the love-spurned idiot alone in our flat?"

Sherlock crisply shook his head. "Hardly. It's probably the only stupid move I've made this entire case."

"You're classifying this whole thing as a _case_?"

"Of course, John. What else would I describe this as?"

"The one time Moriarty bested Sherlock, making 'the genius' seem like a narcissist fool in the process, was because he was feeling _lusty_!" 

There was a thoughtful pause.

"...Moriarty approached you in the supermarket, did he not, John?"

"Yeah, that's right." Sherlock had made an obvious change in the conversation, but surely John could grant him that, seeing Sherlock he had made an utter moron of himself. It wasn't as if the detective could turn the whole thing around to accuse John of anything at this point.

"Seeing that's the case, did you _ever _get around to buying the milk?"

…darn Sherlock and his conversational talent. He was lucky John had already promised they'd always stand together.

**/-/**

**I think I progressively wrote John Watson more and more like Arthur Dent (Hitchikers). Darn you Martin Freeman, for playing such good roles!**

**To boot: the term "boy toy" kept popping up in my head in regards to John throughout this story…**

**Also, thanks to supremegreendragon for the prompt!**


End file.
